


Breakdown in Communications

by redeem147



Category: Angel: the Series, Smallville
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-15
Updated: 2011-08-15
Packaged: 2017-10-22 15:28:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/239532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redeem147/pseuds/redeem147
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Spike's car breaks down he's mistaken for someone else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breakdown in Communications

It wasn’t the DeSoto, but zipping along under the vast canopy of stars, the Viper was a bloody good alternative.

That was, until he realized he was a) lost and b) out of gas.

The powerful engine stuttered to a stop. It was a few hours until morning, and he had no idea where to find cover. Every direction seemed to be either highway or corn field. He could stay in the car, protected through the day by the necrotinted glass, or he could get out and walk, and hope not to come to a fiery end. Never being one for caution, he chose the latter.

Logic would submit that if there were cornfields, there was probably a farm or two, and a farm would have a house, and likely a farmer who knew where they were, and where to get gas. There might even be a town about.

Black duster flapping around his black boots, he set out down the dusty highway shoulder.

****

It took longer to find civilization than he thought. He was debating the shade value of cornstalks when he found a dirt road that most likely would lead to a farm. With the first glimmer of dawn lightening the sky, he ducked into a barn. There was nobody about. What should have been the hay loft had what looked like an office of sorts, but it was too exposed. He climbed back down the stairs, curled up in a corner and dozed off.

*****

“You!”

The voice woke him up. He must have slept all day, since the light shining through some of the slats had faded. He looked up at a tall, dark-haired young man with a decidedly unfriendly look on his face. “Listen, mate,” he started, “Sorry about trespassin’, but nobody was about and...”

The kid picked him up by the front of his t-shirt and lifted him off the ground.

“Hey!”

“I can’t believe you’d come back here, after everything you’ve done.”

Suspended over the dirt floor, Spike gestured in confusion. “Look, I’ve never met you before. I don’t know what you’re on about, but if you’ll just put me down...”

“Oh, it’s you, Fine. And if you think you can fool me with the blond hair and the phoney accent...”

“My accent is not phoney.”

The young man tightened his grasp, lifting Spike even higher in the air. “I can hear you don’t have a heart beat. At least you used to be smart enough to fake that before, you stupid robot.”

“Oh, well. Robot. I know about robots. I used to have this robot, pretty little thing...”

“Shut up, Fine. And don’t try using your heat vision to burn this place down. I know your tricks.”

“Heat vision? You been out in the sun all day, farm boy?” Spike squirmed, trying to wriggle out of his shirt, but the kid was holding him too tight. “Let me down and we can talk about this. I’m not who you think I am.”

“Sure. And you’ll run away with super-speed.”

Spike nodded. “Ri-ight. My super-speed and my heat vision. And then I supposed I’ll fly through the roof.”

“You might.” The young man let go, continuing to hold Spike with his left hand, and pulled back his fist. “You almost killed my mother. I should knock your head off.”

“Rather you didn’t.”

“Why? You’d just grow a new one.”

Spike was growing more nervous, trying not to show it. Here was this unusually powerful kid who was obviously barking mad, and seemed to have a death wish. His. “Put me down, don’t kill me, and I promise not to fly away. Please.”

“I want answers. I want to know how to free Lex.”

“Lex. Right. Whatever you want. Just put me down.”

The kid lowered him, slowly. As soon as he let go, Spike tried to sucker punch him. “Owwww!” He cradled his injured hand. “What are you made of, steel?”

The young man hit back, knocking Spike across the barn, crashing him into the far wall. Spike glared at him, wiping blood from his mouth. “Looney.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“Yeah, tends to happen when someone splits my lip. Wanker.”

“You’re bleeding blood.” The lad looked confused. “You’re not dripping black stuff, you’re bleeding.” He took a step towards the man on the ground. “And you’re not very strong.”

“I bloody well am.” He pushed himself to his feet, and held out his hand. “Name’s Spike. And you are, besides being the worst host in the world...?”

“Clark.” Clark took Spike’s hand and shook it. “Clark Kent.”

“Well, Clark Kent, my car broke down some miles from here, and I ducked in for some shelter.”

“Wow. The resemblance is uncanny.”

“I gathered. Any chance a bloke could take a look at a map and maybe find some gas?”

“I think that can be arranged.” Clark smiled. “I’m really sorry about all this. You want to come into the house and meet my mom? She makes a great cup of coffee.”

“That an invitation?”

“Yeah.”

Spike followed him out of the barn. “Don’t mind if I do.”

“Wait a minute,” Clark said. “Why don’t you have a heartbeat?”

“I’ll tell you, if you explain how you know that.”

“Um. Coffee.”

“Right,” Spike replied. “Coffee.”


End file.
